


Unfit

by The_Asset6



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, S3, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27807682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6/pseuds/The_Asset6
Summary: She wished it was the only time. It was just the first.
Relationships: Fiona Gallagher & Ian Gallagher, Fiona Gallagher & Lip Gallagher, Ian Gallagher & Lip Gallagher
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	Unfit

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! Watching the 10 Days of Shameless marathon has left me with a few new one-shot ideas. "In Pieces" will be updated this weekend if you're reading it, and in the meantime, I offer an extended look at Fiona's s3 story from when they were little. I hope you enjoy it!

“Miss Gallagher, you want to tell me why your father should be declared unfit?”

It wasn’t a question of whether Fiona could provide evidence that Frank had no business being involved where his kids were concerned, merely a matter of which to choose. There was no shortage: the drug deals, the weeks and months without contact, the countless occasions where he’d stumbled around the house doing as much damage as possible to anything or anyone that got in his way—and that was just in the last two years. How was Fiona supposed to decide on just _one_ instance that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Frank was unfit to retain his parental rights?

Well, like all stories, maybe it was best to start at the beginning.

To Lip, it was probably pretty hazy, as far as memories went. Ian wouldn’t remember it at all, and thank God for that. Fiona wished that she couldn’t. It wasn’t something she thought about a whole lot these days, but when she did, the images were still crystal clear. If she didn’t know any better, it might have happened yesterday, not sixteen years ago.

Before they moved into Aunt Ginger’s house, before Monica made leaving a habit, before Fiona was old enough to understand what was going on…

She was six. And it had been fucking cold outside that day.

The odor that pervaded that piece of shit Frank had driven around was impossible to forget. Sour like expired milk and sweat, it was filthy inside and out. Ian’s dirty diapers and Lip’s stained, off-brand Pull-Ups were jammed under the seat with weeks’ worth of fast-food bags and their moldy contents. None of them had had a bath in at least three days, and the dingy teddy bear Lip had snatched from some other kid for Ian may as well have been soaked in dog piss. The rear window was broken for as long as Frank had had the damn thing, so it wouldn’t close the final inch. That wasn’t so bad in the summer, but fall and winter were absolute hell. Blankets hadn’t begun to put a dent in their shivering, especially once they were soaked through with the snow that drifted inside.

It was no wonder that Ian had been sick for a few days by that point. That and the fact that Monica had really outdone herself with the PCP while he was in utero, as they’d discovered a couple years back. Frank hadn’t given a shit about him—go figure. That left Fiona to keep him fed and changed and eating even when he threw it up again as soon as it hit the bottom of his stomach.

That was also why it had smelled so goddamn awful in there.

She recalled feeling grateful when Frank shook her awake and told her that they were getting out. Of course, the relief wore off quick. He wasn’t going with them? She had to sit out on the curb with Ian and Lip and wait for him to return? Well, okay. What the hell else was she supposed to do? He would come back. Fiona had always told herself that: _he’d come back_.

So, she’d done as he’d asked and regretted it to this day. If she’d been older, it would have clicked. She would have held onto the seatbelt for dear life to keep them there, but she definitely wouldn’t have wrapped Ian and Lip in their threadbare, insubstantial winter coats and hats. She wouldn’t have dragged them outside with her or watched Frank drive away, Lip waving in the side mirror until the car was out of sight.

Her mistake had smacked her in the face almost instantly. Too bad she’d been too young to realize it sooner.

Hours had passed— _hours_ —and Frank hadn’t reappeared. Midnight came and went. The club crowd had vanished, replaced by a seedier group. It got colder, and neon signs in the shop windows around them were all that lit the darkness. She’d grabbed Lip’s hand three times so he wouldn’t toddle over to join some hobos who’d started a barrel fire in an alley across the road to stay warm.

Nobody had so much as glanced in their direction except to glare at the abandoned urchins in case they attempted to steal something. Maybe Fiona would have done it, but she didn’t have a spare hand to try.

Because Ian was crying. He rarely made a peep as a baby, not like Lip, Debbie, and Carl had. But as the temperature outside dropped, his had grown uncomfortably warm, and he’d sobbed and screamed into Fiona’s shoulder. Holding him so he knew she was there didn’t help; Lip gently poking his cheek and his nose with that stupid teddy bear didn’t either. A man had stuck his head out from the store behind them, yelling for her to _shut that fucking kid up and get out of here._ That was the first time she’d cursed at an adult. Lip had interpreted her reaction as permission to throw a rock at the guy. Fiona was proud of him for that.

After another hour, she’d pulled her shit together and decided to take matters into her own hands. It wasn’t much of a choice, all things considered. Ian had finally settled down, but it wasn’t because he was doing better. He’d exhausted himself, too tired to cry or keep his eyes open or hang onto her scarf anymore. His cheeks had nearly matched the little tufts of hair sticking out from beneath his hat, and he’d squirmed weakly when she tried to yank it lower over his ears.

Gallaghers didn’t ask for help. They sure as shit didn’t need anyone’s pity.

She’d relied on it anyway.

Dragging Lip to his feet, she’d run along the sidewalk and flagged down any adult that passed them. A few had peered at her in mingled disgust and sympathy before skirting around them. Some had dodged them entirely.

They were the kindest.

“Beat it, kid. I’m working,” a lady in too much make-up and _fuck-me_ pumps had sneered, adjusting her tits and sauntering towards a car that stopped on the corner to meet her.

“Got some medicine for him, right here,” slurred a drunk where he’d staggered out of a nearby shelter. That medicine of his wasn’t on offer once Lip had kicked him in the shin.

Anyone with a car hadn’t let them get in. Anyone who had contemplated it for more than three seconds wasn’t the type they should have been around to begin with, in hindsight. They never would have made it to the clinic, and then Ian would have died while Fiona and Lip were sold to some sweatshop in Bangkok.

And Ian _would_ have died. Fiona hadn’t fully grasped that when she was six, but she did now.

That made it worth the effort of asking someone to point her in the direction of the clinic and sprinting through the freezing Chicago streets until she got there, gasping for breath with a temperamental Lip and restlessly unconscious Ian in tow. It thawed the block of ice in her chest when she thought about how quickly the receptionist had called for someone to help Ian and how somber the nurses had looked as they examined him. Shit, it made her appreciate the pity that had gotten Ian the medication that reduced his insanely high fever to manageable levels and given all of them a warm place to sleep for free. Not even a Gallagher could turn that down.

When they woke up the following day, there had been a plate of stale pastries for her and Lip. Ian’s face was a normal color or close to it. He’d slept most of that day and the next, a needle in his tiny arm where it was wrapped around a brand-new stuffed bear. They’d been comfortable. They’d been cared for.

They’d needed to find Frank.

All kinds of excuses had occurred to Fiona back then: Frank was late or held up, and by the time he’d returned for them, they were already gone. How was he supposed to know where they went? Would anybody have cared enough to tell him that his kids ran off or their destination? Probably not. If they wouldn’t help a sick baby, there was no way they’d have given information to Frank.

The first day, she’d found nothing and returned to the clinic empty-handed.

The second, the results had been the same.

The third day, she’d covered more ground because one of the nurses had offered a ride. Honestly, that was how Fiona managed to locate Frank so quickly. On foot, she never would have made it practically to the other side of the city, where she spotted their car and just about leapt from the nurse’s moving vehicle in her excitement.

“How much money you got on you?”

Those had been the first words out of Frank’s mouth. His enormous pupils had seemed even bigger as he leaned down to squint at her, and Fiona wasn’t sure whether he’d recognized her at the time. After all, Frank was shameless. He’d beg a beggar for cash and knock them over for good measure.

Fiona hadn’t known that then.

She knew it now.

She knew that Frank hadn’t asked where Lip or Ian were because he hadn’t cared. She knew that the only reason he’d gone to the clinic to pick them up was because DCFS would be on his ass if he didn’t. She knew that Ian dying wouldn’t have meant a damn thing to him unless the money he scammed from the government was based on how many dependents he had.

She knew that it wasn’t the last time shit like that had happened over the years. Nowhere near it.

Did it make her a bitch to humiliate Frank on the record and take away his parental rights? Maybe. But at least _she_ was willing to do anything—whatever it took—to make sure her brothers and sister never had to go through that again. _Never_.

So, Fiona shook off the ghosts of her past that refused to quit haunting her, straightened her shoulders, and looked right at the waiting judge.

“We were living out of a car once…”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> For more on Shameless, my writing, and assorted fandom madness, I'm on [Tumblr](https://pathoftheranger.tumblr.com/)!


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